


These Boys Are Just Poison, Thorns in Our Sides

by overratedantihero



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Drabble, F/F, Flirting, Genderswap, Wordcount: 100-500
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 10:33:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16596176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overratedantihero/pseuds/overratedantihero
Summary: Nightwing never was good at sitting still.





	These Boys Are Just Poison, Thorns in Our Sides

**Author's Note:**

> I'm experimenting.

_Where are you?_ Bruce’s gruff voice rumbled over the burner phone he gave Richelle specifically for conversations while he was out on patrol and she was at home. Well, when she was _supposed_ to be home. Far be it from her to rest after something as silly as a tumble off a roof. Jason caught her before she hit the ground, anyway. If not for her resulting panic attack, she wouldn’t have been benched.

“Home,” she chirped. She shifted the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she grappled across another roof. This phone call was really slowing her down. “In Bludhaven. Waiting on Donna for a girl’s night in.” It was risky invoking a third party, but Richelle had called Donna and secured that alibi ahead of time.

_I hear wind._

Richelle snorted. “Yeah, it’s a pretty night, I’ve got my legs dangling out of the window. I’m waiting on Donna and bored. You should have let me come out to Gotham, B. I’m not that delicate.”

 _I never called you delicate. Get back inside, you could fall._ Without any further ado, or so much as an _adieu_ , Bruce hung up. Good. Richelle paused on a rooftop to unzip her suit just enough to tuck her phone down the front, into her bra.

“That’s not very lady-like,” a new voice murmured from a shadow. Richelle rolled her eyes and pulled out her escrima sticks before even bothering with zipping her suit back up.

“What can I say?” Richelle cooed. “I was raised by animals,” she twirled the sticks as that familiar, tightly suited mask stepped forward. “Specifically, bats,” Richelle clarified.

“You know,” Slade’s smooth voice murmured from behind the mask, silver ponytail swishing with that predatory gait, “If you have to explain a joke, it’s not very funny.” Slade cocked her hip and crossed her arms. When it was clear that she wasn’t about to unsheathe her swords or gun, Richelle returned her escrima sticks to their thigh holster.

“I’m hilarious, you’re just old,” Richelle clipped. “Zip me up?”

Obligingly, Slade stalked forward. Richelle turned around and let Slade drag up her suit’s zipper. Slade drug her gloved fingers through Richelle’s thick black, untied hair.

“You should consider cutting it,” Slade murmured. “Or at least try tying it back.”

“You sound like Bruce,” Richelle murmured. “Maybe I’d keep it back if you braided it for me. I like your hands in my hair.”

Slade tugged at Richelle’s hair, leading Richelle to squawk. Richelle cupped the back of her head and swiveled to glare at Slade.

“Someone should consider disciplining you,” Slade cooed, leaning forward.

“Are you offering? Because I’ve got somewhere to be. Namely, anywhere but here,” Richelle smirked, walking backwards towards the edge of the high rise. “But I can pencil you in.”

Slade cocked her head, and Richelle added with a wink, “First you’ve got to catch me,” before turning around, running, and launching off the edge of the building. Slade gave her a thirty second head start.


End file.
